


The *ahem* Pastabilities Are Endless

by GypsumLilac



Series: Noodlepocalypse [4]
Category: Undertale
Genre: Cashier is raaaacist, Frenemies, Gen, Monsterphobia, Never will be smut, No Smut, Old lady be cool, Pasta, Reader has undefined gender, about, almost swears, argument, it's just pasta, like dude chill, passionate about pasta, reader has undefined orientation, reader needs to chill, suspected racism, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 15:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9613352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsumLilac/pseuds/GypsumLilac
Summary: Bleh gurk shobble wok.And that's pretty much it.Brain can't brain. Why am I even posting this...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiii, there is yelling.  
> Also swears, but they are cut off. Aaaaand there is a teensy bit of innuendo...  
> This could be a one-shot, or I might continue it. Whatever. Still trying to work on ANG.  
> I feel a bit like Burgerpants right now :p ;p  
> Get off my lawn, ya lousy kids.

The bag of bread plops into your basket while you studiously ignore the price tag. Only a few more items, then you can go back to your grimy apartment, home, and finish reading the steamy fanfic you'd been in the middle of. Before your mom called to check up on you. And scolded you for not eating anything 'healthy' within the past few- months, it's been months. So to appease her, you went to Walmart with the grocery list she sent you.

Next on the list, conveniently, is eggs. You hate eggs. But for your dear harried mother you will waste money on a dozen eggs. And maybe one of the eggs will hatch and then you'll have a chicken to keep you company. And give you more eggs. Wonderful. You aren't too careful in picking a case out and dropping it into the basket with the other items.

Next on the list- you groan. Pasta. Seriously, mom. Walmart had better have some really good brands of pasta because you refuse to settle for some off-brand grainy garbage. If you didn't know any better, you'd think that she wanted you to spend hours in Walmart examining each box of pasta for defects. But it's on the list, so you head to the pasta aisle with doom written on your heart.

"AH HA, THIS BOX OF NOODLES WILL DO QUITE WONDERFULLY, I THINK, IN MY NEW SPAGHETTI RECIPE!" The strident voice accosts your eardrums as you turn the corner into the pasta aisle. Standing in the center and surveying the wares like a king, the speaker holds a box of spaghetti heroically in his hands. The speaker is also a monster. A skeleton monster. Big surprise. You fake a yawn and pretend that your ears hadn't just been assaulted, giving your full attention to the boxes of linguini. Out of the corner of your eye, not that you're trying to look at the skeleton monster or anything, you see him place the box in the basket hanging off his arm-bone. The box twists and you recognize the brand.

"Wait!" You grab the box out of his hands and stuff it back on the rack to sulk with the rest of its garbage kin. "Not that one." The boxes of spaghetti noodles shiver under your judgemental eye as you scan the racks, barely even aware of the monster standing in shock beside you. "These ones are sh-"

"HUMAN," the skeleton monster cuts you off and grabs the garbage-brand box back, "IT IS VERY RUDE TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE'S PASTA. YOU SHOULD GET YOUR OWN." As he turns away, you lay a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"That brand is junk, dude." You lay it out in simple, easy-to-understand terms. "The gluten is too stressed so the noodles won't soften properly. And when they do, they'll be gloppy and grainy and no good at all. It's junk."

"I THANK YOU, KIND HUMAN, FOR YOUR WELL-MEANT ADVICE, BUT I HAVE FOUND THAT THESE NOODLES ARE THE BEST TO BE HAD. NOW PLEASE REMOVE YOUR ARM SO I CAN GET SOME MACARONI." The monster's sockets dip to frown at you. Your hand lifts. Your mouth flops as you try to assemble words to explain how very wrong he is.

Then your shoulders heave in a sigh and you turn back to examine the noodles. Spotting a brand that appears to be the highest quality you can buy at a supermarket, you drop it in your basket. You sidle to the rotini section and stick your tongue out at the obviously horrible noodles in front of you. A bony arm shows up in your vision, grabbing one of the inferior products and removing itself just as quickly. You give the monster a deadpan stare. "That. Is the most horrible pasta to ever be invented. How can you support it like that??"

"THE GREAT PAPYRUS BELIEVES THAT ALL PASTAS ARE EQUALLY GREAT IN THEIR HAPPINESS-GIVING QUOTIENT! IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT, THEN GO TALK TO THE ROTINI ABOUT IT. EVERYONE LOVES MY PASTA." The monster- er, the 'great Papyrus'- flips his red scarf over his shoulder and poses.

"Wait," the horrifying suspicion hits you, "you make that fOR OTHER PEOPLE?? Remind me to never come to one of your parties." You flinch back as his sockets bulge white.

"I CAN NOT BELIEVE I HAVE NEVER MADE A PARTY!! THIS IS A TRAVESTY THAT MUST BE REMEDIED AT ONCE! THERE WILL BE SPAGHETTI AND GLITTER AND ALL MY FRIENDS WILL COME! THANK YOU, HUMAN, FOR SUGGESTING THIS 'PARTY' THING." The scarf flutters behind him as he spins precariously in the aisle. You reach out to grab him but are smacked away by said scarf.

"Uh, great." You grumble, your eyes alighting on a promising box of fusilli on the other side of the spinning skeleton. "Don't invite me. And, uh, move over, would you." Papyrus stops spinning abruptly and the scarf slaps you in the face.

As you splutter and brush it off, he steps aside and replies, "OF COURSE YOU ARE INVITED, HUMAN!! AND IF YOU WANT ME TO MOVE, ALL YOU NEEDED TO DO WAS ASK NICELY." The last part is delivered in a reprimanding tone that you completely ignore as you dive for the fusilli. "HUMAN?" You place the box in your basket and look at his hesitant eyes. "THAT PASTA. IT IS NOT VERY GOOD. EVEN A GREAT CHEF SUCH AS ME COULD NOT KEEP ITS FOUL DEVICES FROM MAKING MY FRIENDS SICK. YOU SHOULD CHOOSE ANOTHER PASTA." He takes it out of your basket and you grab his wrist.

"Nope. Mine." You try to pull his wrist back down with the noodles, but his arm is surprisingly strong for being so- bony. "Hey, I let you take your junk pasta! Let go of my noodles, you lo" he interrupts you again.

"MY NOODLES ARE PERFECTLY SAFE AND MAKE A FINE SPAGHETTI. THESE, HOWEVER, ARE A HAZARD TO YOU AND EVERYONE YOU WILL FEED THEM TO." His arm lifts as you hang on with both hands and try to grasp the box. "I CAN NOT ALLOW THAT TO HAPPEN."

"YOU'RE A HAZARD." You snarl at Papyrus and jump for the box. He holds it out of your reach easily and smiles at you. A growl forms in your chest and bubbles out of your throat. "You're a hazard just like cooks everywhere WHO THINK they can pick any brand off the shelf and it'll be okay BECAUSE WHAT THE HELL, SPAGHETTI IS SPAGHETTI, right?" Blood pounds in your head, the heat rushing down through your neck and arms. "Wrong. You made your friends sick because YOU failed the pasta, YOU made it wrong and they GOT SICK. Not because of the type of noodle. Because of the brand and the chef. Now give me my fusilli."

Papyrus is staring at you. The people outside the pasta aisle are avoiding the pasta aisle like the plague. You can see them, glancing in nosily and then hurrying away with their dirtied noses stuck in the air. A bony hand rests itself on your shoulder. "HUMAN, I DID NOT REALIZE YOU FELT SO STRONGLY ABOUT PASTA." He- isn't mad. Huh. "I AM THE GREATEST SPAGHETTORE AROUND, OBVIOUSLY, BUT IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO LEARN HOW TO MAKE SPAGHETTI LIKE I DO I WOULD BE HAPPY TO TEACH YOU! AND THEN YOU SHALL BE A GREAT SPAGHETTORE AS WELL!" The shining exuberant smile in his sockets and stretching his teeth begs you to let the worms lie.

You brush his hand off your shoulder. Grabbing your box away from him, you turn on your heel and sneer in parting, "Yeah, I'll be sure to ask for lessons. If I want to learn how to make inedible sh-"

"IT IS NOT INEDIBLE!" You are starting to think he might possibly be cutting you off on purpose. "MY SPAGHETTI IS THE BEST." Papyrus proclaims proudly.

"Says who!" You call his bluff and spin around to fix him with a challenging stare. "Your friends? Please, they probably just say that to make you feel good about yourself."

"FIRST OF ALL, HUMAN, YOU HAVE NOT TRIED MY SPAGHETTI SO YOU DO NOT HAVE THE CAPACITY TO DETERMINE HOW GOOD MY SPAGHETTI IS. I HAVE NEVER TRIED MY SPAGHETTI EITHER, SO I CAN NOT CORRECT YOU, BUT MY FRIENDS ARE UNANIMOUS IN PRAISING IT. IT MAKES THEM HAPPY." Papyrus stomps his foot on the ground and frowns at you. Your shoulders hackle.

"And second?" You snarl right back.

"SECONDLY- OH, HI OLDER HUMAN, I HOPE WE ARE NOT IN YOUR WAY." Papyrus backs against the rack of pasta to make way for the lady who had just come down the pasta aisle for pasta but is now regretting her life choices. You make way as well and she glances disapprovingly at you. Her eyes then widen when you grab Papyrus's arm and glare straight back.

"Youngsters," she mutters, "get a room." And she moves on down the aisle.

You let go of his arm. Your neck is warm. Hot, rather. "SH-SHUT UP!" You shout after her, backing away from Papyrus. "IT ISN'T LIKE TH-THAT!"

"IS NOT LIKE WHAT, HUMAN?" Papyrus asks you and you groan.

"Coulda fooled me." The old meddler turns to wink at you before turning back to grab a box of fettuccini. You don't protest her choice of brand.

"I'm out of here." You grumble, gripping your basket a bit tighter and drawing yourself up indignantly. You walk out of the pasta aisle to the checkout area.

A voice calling after you stops you in your tracks. "WAIT, HUMAN, I DID NOT GET YOUR ANSWER YET! WILL YOU COME TO MY PARTY?" You look at Papyrus as he stomps up to you, furrowing your brows.

"What?" The colorful language you want to use falls away in confusion.

"COME TO MY PARTY. SOMEONE WHO LOVES PASTA SO MUCH AND WHO IS SUCH A- HOW DOES ALPHYS CALL IT- A TSUNDERE, MUST BE TRULY GREAT!" His smiling sockets don't seem to be lying.

"I am not a tsundere..." Your protestation trails off. "You. Idiot. You seriously bought THAT brand??" The offending box of noodles withers in his basket underneath your glare.

"SO WHAT! I CAN BUY WHATEVER NOODLES I WANT. THE PASTA-BILITIES ARE ENDLESS. NYEH HEH HEH HEH." You stare at the cackling maniac for what seems an eternity.

"Fine. I give up. I'll even go to your dumb party. Just get rid of that." He claps his hands at your words and the sparkle in his eye strikes a similar yet unfamiliar spark in your chest.

"DONE!" The garbage noodles are flung out of the basket and they fulfill their lifelong dream of flying across the entire store and hitting a teen on the nose. "TO THE CHECKOUT!! AND THEN YOU SHALL COME HOME TO OUR PARTY!!" His arm wraps around yours and drags you after him. You trip and pull back on your arm, yanking it out of his grasp.

"You can't just decide to have a party right away!" You plead desperately, memory of your unfinished fanfic and warm bed pulling you away. "It takes, uh, planning! And... strategy."

"THAT IS WONDERFUL, HUMAN! PLANNING AND STRATEGY ARE WHAT I AM BEST AT! THIS PARTY SHALL BE THE BEST EVER THANKS TO THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AND YOU." You can't say no to those eyes.

"No." Without great mental fortitude. "Parties take weeks, maybe months, to plan and prepare." That should give you enough time. And if you're lucky maybe he'll forget about inviting you.

"WOULD YOU HELP ME, THEN? YOU SEEM TO KNOW A GREAT DEAL ABOUT PARTY PLANNING, AND EVEN ONE AS GREAT AS I MUST NEED HELP SOMETIMES. ESPECIALLY AS I HAVE NEVER PLANNED A PARTY." His words drop like bombs around you.

"WHAT? ME? No way! I'm not-" his eyes- "not planning it without a good cake picked out first..." You finish in a mumble. At least there will be cake.

"THAT IS A SPLENDID IDEA, HUMAN! THERE WILL BE CAKE AND MUSIC AND GAMES AND AWFUL MOVIES AND IT WILL BE THE GREATEST PARTY YOU HAVE EVER BEEN TO!" Papyrus starts walking towards a checkout again. Everyone is staring at him and you. You glare back at them and they turn snootily away.

There are no incidents at the checkout. The cashier sniffs disapprovingly all the while you and Papyrus got your products scanned and bagged. And while you argue with him about M&Ms or Skittles counting as a necessary party food. M&Ms are the obvious right answer but Papyrus disagrees. Both end up on the conveyor belt. And while you both argue about who pays because you and him accidentally scanned all your items together. He wins. But that doesn't count.

When you have separated your groceries from his and carried them out of the air-conditioned building into the scorching summer sun, you realize you forgot to get icecream. The most important food item. But you don't really want to go back in. So you resign yourself to walking back to your apartment icecreamless. A yell echoes behind you; the voice is already ingrained in your memory as Papyrus's.

"HUMAN, I WILL SEE YOU AT THE PARTY!" You jerk around, but he's already gone. Gone and no way to contact him. You didn't ask for his phone number. It's probably for the best. You've never liked asking for numbers anyway. Or planning parties. Even if the last one does sound kind of fun. You shake your head vehemently to rid yourself of the thought and continue to your apartment.

                                                                                        ------------  
*Ring, Ring*  
You glance over at the phone lying on your desk. Your mom wasn't supposed to call for another two hours. She's the only one you could think of who'd have your number besides your boss. You shrug and pick it up.

*HELLO? THIS IS PAPYRUS.*

It is a testament to your willpower that the phone doesn't fall out of your hands and shatter. Instead, you calmly reply, "HOW DID YOU GET MY NUMBER??"

*OH, I SIMPLY CALLED EVERY POSSIBLE NUMBER WITH THIS AREA CODE UNTIL I GOT YOUR NUMBER. YOU ARE THE HUMAN I MET AT THE STORE, YES?*

"Yes," you answer with trepidation.

*WONDERFUL!! I HAVE TO PUT AWAY GROCERIES NOW BUT YOU CAN TEXT ME WHEN YOU WISH TO PLAN THE PARTY. SEE YOU THEN, PASTA-HUMAN!*

"Actually my name is-" The phone beeps as Papyrus hangs up. "Y/N." You sigh, staring at the phone in a daze. So that was happened. Best to not think about it, you have a fanfiction to finish and a warm bed to cuddle up in. And maybe later you'll make some pasta.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you suffered and whatever. Leave a comment tearing down every portion of this horrible creation if you want. And have a nice night. 
> 
> If you're in a play, don't break a leg. HA! Bad luck for you now.  
> ...what is with this weird mood.


End file.
